To Wed A Viscount (17 page)

He glanced at his wife. It was no surprise that these four celibate weeks of married life had not diminished her feminine appeal. More and more he found it difficult to banish her from his thoughts, whether he was awake or asleep.

Faith intrigued him, yet he deliberately kept a physical distance from her. Why? Because he feared the consequences if he succumbed. Whatever happened between them, he was determined not to become a slave to his own senses.

“Tell me more about Wingate,” Griffin demanded, knowing he should be worrying about the sorry state of his own marriage, not fretting over his sister's relationship. Yet somehow it seemed far easier and more appealing to face someone else's problems. “If he marries Harriet he shall be our relative.”

Faith instantly sobered. “If? Do you doubt his sincerity?”

“I question it.”

A frown slowly formed in Faith's eyes. “Most of what I know of him comes from Merry. Mr. Wingate offered for her during her first season, but she turned him down flat. She told me he had a way of staring at her that made her feel singularly uncomfortable.”

“I cannot fault the man for being interested in Lady Meredith. She is a stunningly beautiful woman.”

Faith thrust her eyes downward, but not before he saw the flash of pain and anger. She set down her cup on the saucer so loud it rattled. “Yes, Meredith is a goddess of womanhood, beautiful and wise and worthy of worship by all men. Including you.”

“Jealous?”

She opened her mouth wide, then abruptly closed it. Griffin picked up his cup and downed its remains in one gulp. Faith was still sputtering, no doubt wrestling with the perfect retort, so he used her confusion to take a closer look at his wife.

She was wearing a simple morning dress, pale yellow in color, that fit tightly across her bosom. Her hair was styled simply atop her head, and there was a most becoming flush on her cheeks. Poets would never write sonnets to her beauty; artists would not beg to immortalize her loveliness on canvas. Yet Griffin was aware of this woman, his wife, with every single fiber in his body, even though the length of the cherry-wood dining table separated them.

“Nothing to say, Faith?” Griffin teased, when she failed to reply.

“I have decided it would only inflate your already impossibly large ego to dignify your ridiculous notion of jealousy by commenting upon it,” Faith said haughtily, her chin tilted at a challenging angle.

“Coward.”

“Braggart.”

They launched into a spirited conversation, and Griffin soon found himself feeling a flood of rising desire. He watched as well as listened to Faith as they bantered, enjoying the way she emphasized her point by moving her hands in a graceful arc high in the air.

She leaned across the table, and Griffin caught the clean, freshly washed scent of her hair. Lavender. His stomach muscles contracted sharply as he imagined removing those pins and running his fingers through the heavy silk tresses.

He closed his eyes briefly, remembering the softness of her naked flesh, the fullness of her breasts as he caressed them, cupping the roundness in his palms whilst his fingers tantalized the dark nipples into provocative hardness.

Griffin's lack of attention on their conversation brought it abruptly to a halt. Faith glanced at him with a pleasant, almost intimate smile. The viscount stood.

Breakfast was finished. He had a pile of papers awaiting him in his study, but Griffin was having great difficulty pulling himself away He had no real reason to stay except that he wanted to see Faith, wanted to be near her.

“Business calls,” Griffin announced suddenly, moving away from the table. “I hope you have a pleasant day. I will see you at dinner this evening. I shall be gone from the estate for the majority of the afternoon, so do try and avoid a hair-pulling argument with Harriet.”

He bowed stiffly, then rushed from the room, in much the same manner that he had arrived. Just to prove to himself that he possessed the strength of will to do it.

 

 

Faith exited the house through the ballroom doors at the rear, deliberately going in the opposite direction as Harriet. The sun had risen higher, but the air felt moist. Glancing upward she saw a streak of low-lying clouds marring the blue sky. There would most likely be rain by the afternoon. She worried that Griffin would get wet on his errands, for she knew he would ride his horse instead of taking a carriage.

Faith paused when she reached the edge of the formal gardens and sat on a stone bench, facing the last of the summer blooms. Already the air felt cooler. Summer was nearing its end—the fall harvest would soon begin.

It gave her a sudden sense of sadness to gaze upon the withering flowers. Their beauty was wilting, turning brown and crumbling into dust. Soon they would be nothing more than compost for next year's crop of new buds.

The sun felt warm on her shoulders, and Faith closed her eyes briefly. Rising so early this morning had been difficult, and the lack of sleep was already starting to take its toll.

A high warbling sound interrupted her dozing. Curious, Faith lifted her head and noticed a small bird with a short dark beak perched on a nearby branch. It looked oddly familiar. She sat very still and it came closer, taking a short nervous hop in her direction. She smiled and fumbled in the pocket of her gown, searching for the crust of bread she had taken from the table for just this purpose.

“You must be the pretty little bird that Georgie has been feeding,” she cooed, holding up the tempting treat.

Tilting its head, the small creature darted forward, blinking its tiny black eyes. Faith laughed, and the bird skipped back in fear.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I did not mean to frighten you. I am well acquainted with the feelings of terror and helplessness and would not wish that upon any living creature.”

Faith placed a crust of bread on the edge of the stone bench, then walked carefully away, leaving the bird to enjoy its bounty in peace.

Several other birds flew around in circles above her head and swooped down to join the feast. She quietly left that section of the garden and ventured toward the ornamental fountain that Georgie enjoyed sloshing his hands in. Whenever his Aunt Harriet was not around to scold him.

It was an idyllic spot. Quiet and peaceful. The soft breeze was scented with the last of the season's roses, and she inhaled appreciatively. Faith followed the path, deliberately clearing her mind of the morning's event.

She would
not
dwell upon Griffin's unusual behavior at breakfast. For the most part he seemed to grudgingly tolerate her presence in his home. He left her mostly to her own devices, involving himself only when it was necessary to settle a dispute between her and Harriet. An event Faith had quickly learned he heartily despised.

They met at the evening meal most days and occasionally took tea together. They politely discussed the events of their day, the events of the estate, the gossip from the village. As much as Faith disliked Harriet, she was honest enough to admit that without Griffin's two sisters in the house, it would be as quiet as a tomb.

The sound of footsteps behind her slowed Faith's step. She turned and saw Griffin striding purposely toward her.

“Is something wrong?” she inquired warily as he reached her side. Her husband had left her not ten minutes ago, clearly anxious to be away from her company. “Did you forget to tell me something?”

“I did not forget; I was merely remiss,” Griffin replied. “Before I departed from the breakfast room I had meant to give you this.”

Without further warning, the viscount bent his head and covered her half-opened mouth with his own.

There was an instant of total shock. Then Faith's eyelids fluttered closed and her body softened. She immediately experienced that odd feeling of lightheadedness, and a deafening rush of sound filled her ears, reminding her of the surf pounding on the shore.

Griffin deepened the pressure of his lips, making her own feel even more sensitive. Her mouth parted and his tongue delved inside. She could taste the slight bitterness on his tongue from the coffee he had drunk earlier. Her hand lifted to touch his face as a small sound of sensual delight purred in her throat.

Griffin drew her fully into his arms, imprisoning her most willingly. Through the flickering leaves on the trees above her, Faith could feel the warmth of the sun on her face and shoulders, but the heat it provided could not match the fire Griffin was creating inside her.

His hand reached down and cupped the fullness of her breast. One of his fingertips slipped inside the front of her bodice and began gently rolling the aching nipple.

She felt the betraying hardness of his body and boldly pushed herself closer. His hand stilled on her breast, then he broke off the kiss and pulled away. Faith could feel herself floundering, struggling to hold on to his strength.

“Griffin, I—” Words were an impossibility. Her entire body was trembling, shuddering from head to toe. She wanted desperately to be back in his arms, with his mouth pressed firmly to her lips and the hard strength of his body enveloping hers.

He pretended not to notice her agitated state. “I have decided we should host the harvest ball as Lady Granville suggested.” He paused and bowed his head, in an effort to regulate his breathing. “Please make all the necessary arrangements. I'm sure that Harriet and Elizabeth will be delighted to assist you.”

“A ball?” Faith croaked.

“Yes.”

Stunned, Faith could only nod her head meekly. Her body was taut with unfulfilled desire and he wished to discuss a party? She was sure that somewhere there was humor in this situation, but it was impossible to discover it at this point.

“Is there anyone in particular you wish me to invite?” Faith asked faintly, not sure what else to do.

“No. I'm sure you know better than I who should be included.” The viscount nodded his head curtly. “I shall leave all the details in your capable hands.”

Faith sank to the edge of the fountain and breathed in deep lungfuls of air. She stared at his retreating back in dismay, her emotions in turmoil.
What just happened?

Shaking her head in confusion, Faith took a second deep breath. She could still smell the subtle, masculine scent that was uniquely Griffin's. It clung to her skin like a potent aphrodisiac, teasing and testing her will.

For a moment she sat there, savoring the sensation of his lips pressed to hers, the feelings that engulfed her so completely when, for just an instant, she had felt desirable, protected, almost cherished.

Shutting her eyes, Faith tried to summon her common sense. She had no earthly idea what had prompted this unexpected, passionate embrace. Perhaps the reason, or reasons, were not truly significant.

The more important dilemma to be faced was determining how to again incite this romantic, passionate behavior in her noble husband. As soon as possible.

“Are you truly going to wear those gloves with that gown?” a cultured feminine voice asked in mock horror.

Faith whirled toward the outraged voice and burst out laughing. “Merry! I should have known it would be you, critiquing my new ensemble.” Faith tugged self-consciously on the ends of the long gloves that extended beyond her elbows. “Don't you like them? I was told by the shopkeeper this was the latest rage in Paris.”

“Then let Napoleon enjoy looking at his ladies trussed up in bandages when they attend a ball.” Lady Meredith made a clucking noise with her tongue. “Those long gloves make your arms look short and squat and distract from the simple lines of your bodice. And they cover far too much of your beautiful skin.”

Meredith turned to the wide-eyed maid who had been listening to the exchange with great interest. “Bring me her ladyship's glove box, so I may select a more appropriate and flattering pair.”

“Yes, my lady.” The maid curtsied, then rushed off to find the box.

Faith watched with growing amusement as Meredith carefully examined the entire contents before making a selection. It was good to have her friend so close at hand. When Faith had informed Griffin she intended to invite Meredith to the harvest ball, he had merely raised an eyebrow and wondered out loud if she would be interested in attending. After all, country pursuits would seem rather unsophisticated after the excitement of London.

But Faith knew that Meredith was far from impressed with the goings-on of the beau monde. Besides, she would attend this ball if only for Faith's sake. True to her nature, Meredith had arrived a few days before the party, and her efficient, supportive presence had been a soothing balm to Faith's frayed nerves.

“These shall do nicely,” Meredith announced, as she extracted a soft pair of white gloves.

Uncertainly, Faith donned them. They seemed far too plain and ordinary for the elegant silk gown she was wearing. A quick glance at her maid revealed the servant's doubts, too.

“They look perfect,” Meredith decided. “Much better than the others.”

The hollowness in the pit of Faith's stomach eased. The strong conviction in Merry's voice left no room for doubt, and Faith was relieved to note that as usual, Meredith's fashion instincts were spot-on.

The shorter gloves were an improvement over the long, making her fingers appear long and elegant and her hands dainty and petite. Merry might claim to have no interest in the fickle dictates of fashion, but she had an innate sense of fashion that could not be denied.

The undisputed proof of that lay in the fact that no matter what the occasion, Meredith was always impeccably and flatteringly dressed.

Then again, when one had such irresistible beauty to work with, it was easy to scoff at the current fashion. With a flash of jealous wonder, Faith admitted that her friend would no doubt look ravishing dressed in rags.

“I suppose these gloves are an improvement,” Faith conceded, picking up her fan. She glanced at Meredith with uncertainty, wondering if her friend had a negative opinion about this accessory.

“You look radiant this evening, Faith,” Meredith declared. “The restorative country air has done wonders for your complexion.”

“I have spent nearly all of my life in the country,” Faith said with a small laugh. “Did only a few short weeks in London remove the glow from my skin?”

“Of course not. However, a few months back in the country has placed an even brighter shine in your face. Or is that charming glow a result of your newly married state?”

Faith blushed. Despite the closeness she had always felt with Meredith, she was not eager to discuss her marriage. It was a jumbled, complicated mess that she didn't truly understand herself. How could she articulate her feelings of disappointment, regret, and the ever-present hope that it would all improve one day?

“I eagerly await the day when you are married,” Faith said with a sly wink. “Then we can discuss the institution together and share our experiences.”

Meredith's slim body tensed. “Bite your tongue, Faith. I have long believed it is not my destiny to marry. A most unpopular and unnatural attitude among women of our class, as you well know. I know that I shall need your support of my unconventional decision as the years pass, not additional pressure to do what is expected.”

“I was merely jesting,” Faith declared in a soft voice. The vehemence of Meredith's declaration startled her.

“I was not,” Meredith stated stubbornly.

Faith thought she had understood Meredith's position on marriage, but hearing her speak this prophecy so vehemently was disheartening. Meredith should not rule out marriage entirely. Paired with the right man, she would make a wonderful companion.

Despite everything that had gone wrong with her own marriage, Faith was very glad that she had married. And very glad that Griffin was her husband.

For an instant Faith worried that Meredith had heard or seen something between her and Griffin these past few days that caused this openly antimatrimony attitude. Faith rattled her brain for details, yet could remember no overt signs of discord.

The viscount had been a model of husbandly regard since Merry's arrival. Polite, solicitous, and interested in his wife's conversations, while properly busy with various estate businesses and other masculine pursuits that severely limited the time he spent with his wife and houseguest.

If she noticed anything odd about Griffin's behavior Meredith kept those opinions to herself.

“I must stop in the nursery before we go downstairs, so I can say a proper good night to Georgie,” Faith told Meredith as they left her bedchamber. “I promised to pull the sheets extra tight and tuck him into bed exactly the way he likes. I know he won't be able to sleep until I do.”

Meredith cocked her head to one side. “You really are taken with this child.”

“I am.” Faith grinned. “Believe it or not, Georgie keeps me sane.”

Meredith raised a curved brow at that remark, but said nothing. Griffin's son was already snuggled in bed, struggling to keep his eyelids from closing, when the women arrived. After several hugs, tickles, and kisses, he was ready for sleep. Despite protesting that he was not in the least bit sleepy, Georgie was yawning loudly, with the young nurse in charge of his care hovering near, as Faith and Meredith tiptoed out of the room.

“I wonder if any of our guests have arrived,” Faith commented as they strode down the hallway. “I don't think I had one refusal for the ball. We are expecting a full house tonight.”

“I'm sure it will be a great crush and a resounding success,” Meredith replied. “After all, everyone is most anxious to see the new Viscountess Dewhurst.”

“I have known most of these people since I was a child,” Faith replied with a shake of her head. “I have not changed very much in the few months of my marriage.”

Meredith's eyes filled with laughter. “Oh, there are many who would quibble with that statement, Faith. I among them.”

Faith was too startled to reply. Had she really changed? For the better? she wondered. There were times when Faith felt exactly the same as she always had and yet at other moments she felt as if she had changed beyond recognition.

Faith moved along without urgency when Meredith gestured for her to go ahead, realizing her friend most likely did not know how to get to the ballroom from the third floor. This was not Mayfield Manor, where Merry knew the passageways as well as her own home. Oddly enough, Faith had forgotten that for an instant, almost as if Hawthorne Castle was now her real home.

The nerves she had managed to quell started nagging at her the moment they reached the ballroom entrance. Tonight would be her first real entrance into the local society since her marriage. She had made only the minimal amount of social calls during these first months, taking shameful advantage of her position as a new bride to avoid those duties. And avoid all the avid questions.

Tonight there would be no avoidance. Faith would be standing front and center, one of the two main characters to be scrutinized thoroughly by the local society. Griffin would be the other, and there was little doubt in her mind that her husband would be judged favorably.

Oh, how she longed to also be held in similar regard. Even from the very people who had in the past either stared rudely, completely ignored her, openly criticized her, or spoken in hushed whispers behind her back.

Faith hated feeling so vulnerable over the outcome of tonight's party, and even though it was not always a welcoming environment, she found herself reluctant to leave the protective cocoon of her new home.

Meredith made small talk as they stood at the ballroom threshold attempting, Faith realized, to ease the obvious discomfort that Faith was experiencing. But even Meredith's inconsequential chatter could not still the nerves that burst forth when they stepped inside.

None of the guests had arrived, but the sound of crunching wheels and neighing horses was quite distinct. Faith knew it would only be a matter of minutes before they began descending. Griffin, along with Harriet and Elizabeth, stood at the front of the room, forming an informal receiving line.

They were engrossed in an intense discussion, unaware of Faith and Meredith's arrival. The extra moment gave Faith a chance to collect her thoughts and make a final check of the room. Her critical eye darted about the room, mentally ticking off all the careful, meticulously thought out arrangements.

The orchestra stood at the ready, seated in the upper galley as to maximize the space for dancing. Fall flowers had been artfully arranged throughout the room to bring in an extra dash of color and lend an air of celebration. All the best beeswax candles had been lit, and they cast a romantic, inviting glow.

It was difficult to imagine that the estate had suffered from neglect and financial troubles. Tonight, the rooms that were visible to the guests glowed with fresh paint and newly repaired furniture, thanks to Griffin's frugal management and the funds from Faith's dowry and profits from Mayfair Manor.

The servants were discreetly milling about the edges of the room, awaiting the guests' arrival so they could be of service.

Faith had instructed all the footmen to be attired in simple black frocks, deciding against the more fashionable formal dress. She was therefore surprised to notice a footman stroll past her looking ridiculously formal in an old-fashioned powdered wig, silk knee breeches, and a heavily embroidered silver waist frock.

He quietly took up a position at the entrance to the ballroom and Faith realized he was poised to announce each guest, with the staid and formal fanfare that she always disliked, as they entered.

It took no effort to decide who had orchestrated this, against her specific wishes. One glance at Harriet's smug expression told Faith who was responsible.

With a feeling of inevitability, Faith advanced toward the footman, who was unfortunately standing directly beside her husband and his sisters. As she approached the group, Faith concentrated on keeping her breathing steady.
In and out, in and out.

The black evening clothes the viscount wore made Griffin look his usual breathtakingly handsome self, and Elizabeth looked appropriately young and fresh and utterly lovely in her white muslin gown. Faith grudgingly conceded that even Harriet looked well this evening. The lavender silk gown she wore was several seasons out of date, but the high waist flattered her willowy figure and the soft color complemented her coloring.

Yet Faith knew all too well that underneath all that silk was steel. Hard, unreasonable steel.

Faith decided to give one final attempt at avoiding a direct confrontation with her meddling sister-in-law and addressed her displeasure directly to the servant.

“I am very surprised to see you positioned here, Harper,” Faith said to the footman. “And wearing that outfit. My instructions for this evening were clear and concise. No formal attire and no formal announcing of the arriving guests. Precisely what part of those directions did you find difficult to comprehend?”

The footman's eyes darted uncomfortably to Harriet, and she immediately stepped forward.

“Do stop haranguing the servants, Faith. The guests are arriving.” Harriet breezily slid between Faith and the footman. “Harper is here at my command. We have always announced our guests at a ball, since it is the proper and correct way to conduct any affair attended by so many of the local gentry. 'Tis expected. I assumed the omission was an oversight on your part, due to your inexperience in these matters.”

“You assumed wrong. When your opinion is required, Harriet, it shall be sought. Until then, kindly keep your thoughts, ideas, and
assistance
to yourself ” Faith turned to the footman, who was now regarding her with great intensity. “Go to the kitchen and see if you can help with setting up the buffet. And for heaven's sake, remove that ridiculous getup. This isn't the palace at Versailles.”

“Yes, my lady.” The footman bowed, a glow of newfound respect in his eye.

Harriet stiffened and drew herself up tall. “You are making a colossal blunder. It is important—”

“Be quiet, Harriet,” Faith interrupted. “My decision has been made, and there is no disputing that it is
my
decision to make. The guests are arriving. If you continue on about this nonsense, all the hot air from your sputtering will fill the room, turning it uncomfortably warm, and then no one will want to dance.”

Harriet's jaw dropped. With a satisfied nod, Faith turned her attention toward the arriving guests. These last days of hectic preparation had left Faith's emotions scraped raw and easily affected, but besting Harriet in an argument was precisely what she needed to regain her confidence and face the local society.